


Countdown

by EliVIII



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Second Person, There are other characters too but they’re just mentioned, aspect fuckery in a different world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:57:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliVIII/pseuds/EliVIII
Summary: You have a clock in your head.It is easy to ignore most days, but that doesn’t make it go away.





	Countdown

**Author's Note:**

> This is really short and unbetaed so send me a message if there’s a typo I missed. I might add something small about some other characters. Roxy and rose, especially, but it’s probably gonna stay a oneshot.

There’s a clock in your head.

It starts at 7:30 exactly, milliseconds falling away faster than they register. (7 hours, 3 minutes, 43 seconds and 27 milliseconds.)

It’s not obvious, not really. It’s just kind of there, counting away in the back of your mind, waiting to remind you, in a moment of boredom, that you only have a few hours left.

It’s there during first block, when you finish a sketchy idea for Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff that would get you detention if a teacher saw it. 1 hour, 5 minutes, 21 seconds and 6 milliseconds down. You acknowledge the fact, and keep doodling over the edges of your notebook. You’ve got time left, still.

In second block, you look up from your sculpture project—a wobbly throne which is absolutely eye searing and ridiculously uncomfortable to sit on, if it would stop BREAKING— and panic when the clock makes itself known. Less than four hours to go. You’re running out of time.

Third block is mind numbing. A soft spoken old man rambles in front of the board, praising Christopher Columbus, and the American Dream. It’s bullshit, you think, but the man keeps talking. You sneak the textbook off your neighbor’s desk, and spend some time perfecting a drawing that describes exactly how you feel about the class on the inside cover. She checks the inside when you slide it back and stifles a laugh.

The pencil scratches over the paper while she adds her own work. The book slides in front of you. She’s drawn herself, with crossed out eyes and a textbox in the style of Oregon trail. “Roxy died of extreme boredom,” it says.

Just over two hours left.

Fourth hour is English. You spend the whole lesson texting Rose. She asks, just once, if something’s wrong. You brush it off; there’s only half an hour left. You don’t want to think about it.

School ends too soon. That bell marks the fifteen minute mark each day. You walk home a daze, going slow but not enough to drag it out. The stairs are always the worst. You can practically hear the clock, ticking away in time with your steps. Four minutes becomes one, and your hand closes around the apartment door.

It looks empty inside, and you head to your room and drop off your bag. 30 seconds. The door closes silently behind you when you leave. The kitchen looms in front of you. You step inside. The clock hits zero as your hands close around a piece of paper.

You read it, anxiety pulsing through you, loud and jarring like an alarm clock. The paper falls to the ground. There’s a sword inside the fridge. You grab it and head up the stairs. To the roof.

 

The next day, you walk to school with a midnight purple leg. The touch of your sweatpants feels like sandpaper, but you don’t limp. When you finally reach the school doors, and fling them open mechanically, something clicks.

Oh. (7 hours). You better get going (3 minutes). John and Rose should be waiting by your locker (43 seconds). Jade will get there soon (27 milliseconds).

You’ve got time. 


End file.
